Little White Lies
by VampirePam
Summary: Canon AU: Peter Burke is a secretly gay FBI agent, Elizabeth is his best friend whom he married to avoid the prejudice in the Bureau, and Neal Caffrey is the con man he just can't get out of his head. Follows the basic plots laid out by the series.
1. Start of Something Good

__May 27, 2003  
><em>  
><em>"El?" Peter called out, shutting the oak-paneled front door behind him.

"Hey, sweetie," El said with a smile, cheerily coming to greet him with a quick kiss, "How was work?"

"You're very domestic today," Peter said with a laugh, then morphed his expression to one of mock terror as he added, "Oh God, your mother isn't here, is she?"

Elizabeth gave him a playful smack on the arm and replied, "Nothing like that. I'm just in a good mood, that's all."

"Wait, let me guess," Peter said, drumming his fingers together as if concentrating intently, "Long lunch with the stockbroker went well. Judging by that lavish bouquet I see behind you, very well. You know, I really should give that boy a stern talking to about dating my wife."

"Stop it," Elizabeth scolded lightly, rolling her eyes and strolling into the living room, "It's not funny. I don't want to have to explain about our...unorthodox family situation after a couple of dinners."

"But darling," Peter said in an artificially deep voice as he placed his hands on Elizabeth's waist and lowered her into a dramatic dip, "If you're out with him, how will you be back in time to have my dinner on the table at five o'clock sharp and tuck little Johnny and Susie into bed?"

"I'm sorry, dear, you're right," Elizabeth said with a flutter of her eyelashes, "I have been neglecting my womanly duties. Shall I slip on a negligee and make you an apple pie?"

"I'd settle for you grabbing me a beer in the perfectly adorable outfit you're wearing now," Peter said, returning her to an upright position and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"I think I can manage that," El replied, going to find them each one. "You look beat; something going on at work?"

Peter plopped down tiredly on the couch and said with a sigh, "It's this forger. You know the one I've been chasing?"

"Let me see, suspect known as "James Bonds", late twenties, master forger, art theft, and confidence man, suspected active for at least five years but never formally identified or apprehended. Would that be the one?" Elizabeth asked with an innocent smile, plopping down next to Peter and handing him the wine.

Peter looked at her in surprise, but soon a tired smile of realization appeared on his face, and he said sheepishly, "I've been talking about him a lot, haven't I?"

"Oh, only once or twice a day for the past four months," Elizabeth teased him good-naturedly.

"Sorry, hon," Peter said, "We can talk about something else."

"No, I'm just teasing you," El said, scooting to lean comfortably against Peter, "What's going on with Double-O Seven these days?"

"Oh, the usual - manufacturing Caravaggios, replicating currency, pretending to be a government official," Peter replied with a little sigh of desperation. "No matter what I do, he always seems to be one step ahead of me. It's infuriating."

"You'll get him," Elizabeth said soothingly, "He may be good, but you're the best."

"Thanks, hon," Peter said, kissing her lightly on the forehead, "I appreciate that. It's just that his work is so brilliant, El! I've never seen art forgeries like these; not a single person I've interviewed has been able to tell the difference between one of his paintings and the real thing. The kid can do Renoir better than Renoir himself! He's got an amazing gift, like no one I've ever chased before."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say someone had a little crush," El said mischievously, giving Peter a teasing smile.

"Oh, El, that's ridiculous," Peter said, "He's not my type."

"Really?" El asked skeptically, eyebrows arched, "Gorgeous and talented isn't your type?"

"How can you possibly know that he's gorgeous?" Peter asked defensively, realizing too late that this was perhaps not the best way to phrase the question.

"Well, how could he convince all those people to do what he wanted if he wasn't?" El reasoned, adding a little guiltily, "Not to mention I may have peeked at the sketch in his file when you left it open on the dining room table the other day."

"El!" Peter exclaimed, "A civilian looking at confidential FBI case material is illegal!...probably."

"We are married!" El defended, "So by that logic, your case files are my case files. Besides, I wanted a look at the man who has my husband so completely transfixed."

"Oh come on, El, I could never seriously consider becoming romantically involved with a criminal, least of all one I'm investigating," Peter scoffed, trying not to think too hard about El's use of the word "transfixed."

"I don't know, he doesn't seem like your run-of-the-mill criminal," El observed, only a little surprised that what had begun as customary teasing had turned into an actual discussion of the possibilities. "From what you've told me, he sounds like more of an artist than a thug. He's never stolen from anyone who couldn't more than afford the loss."

"That doesn't matter!" Peter insisted, "No one gets to pick and choose which laws he follows, not even "James Bonds" himself. And besides, I'll have him in jail by the end of the month, and that will be the end of that."

"Even you don't believe that, Peter," El said doubtfully. "Something tells me this one might be in for the long haul."


	2. The Way We Were

_November 6, 2003_

While making a sharp left onto 7th Avenue, Peter was startled to hear muffled club music blaring out of his pocket. Carefully keeping his left hand on the wheel, he used his right to dig out his phone, and it took all his restraint not to smack himself on the forehead with it as he recognized the ringtone as "Gay Boyfriend" and saw that Elizabeth was calling. _Gotta stop leaving my phone around the house_, he thought, shaking his head.

"Haha, very funny, El," he said sarcastically, flicking the phone open to answer the call.

"I thought it was appropriate," she responded, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Did you need something, or are you just calling to show off your handiwork?" Peter asked, failing miserably at pretending to be annoyed.

"Actually, since you're in Midtown today, I was wondering if you could pick up some puppy food from that gourmet dog food place on West 42nd on your way home," she asked.

"El, you are coddling that dog! He's going to grow up spoiled and entitled, you know," Peter objected, though only on principle.

"Well, he's the only baby I plan on having for the next decade or so," El countered, "So why shouldn't I lavish him with my attention?"

"Fine, you win, I'll pick up the dog food," Peter responded, smiling a little even as he rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, babe," she replied gratefully. "So, how goes the hunt for James Bonds? Found any discarded martini shakers lying around?"

"Haha, again," Peter said dryly. "No, no martini shakers, or scantily clad girls, or black Aston Martins, either. Just an astoundingly long list of bank managers I have to interview, none of whom have seen anything resembling counterfeit currency in the past few months. I tell you, El, they really do oversell the excitement of this job at the recruiting seminars."

"Don't worry," El said comfortingly, "Things are bound to heat up when you get a solid lead on James Bonds, and I have a feeling one is right around the corner."

"I hope so," Peter agreed with a sigh, "I don't know how much more fruitless pavement pounding I can take. Oh, wait, I gotta go, just pulling up in front of First Unity now."

"Okay, hon," she said, "I'll see you tonight. Love you!"

"Love you, too, El," Peter called fondly into the phone as he closed and returned it to his pocket before pulling up next to the curb.

A competent-looking woman in a pink blazer stepped out of the front door of the bank and walked over to meet him. "Special Agent Burke?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes, ma'am," Peter responded, pulling out his badge. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

"Oh, it's no trouble," she responded pleasantly. "I'm Tamara Moore, the bank manager, and I'll try to cooperate the best I can. Anything to protect our customers from illegal activity."

"We believe that there may be some counterfeit bonds circulating in the area,"

Peter explained. "They were created by a suspect I've been chasing for the past year."

"A year?" the woman exclaimed in surprise.

"This guy's a forger, he's good," Peter continued, though he found his attention drifting uncontrollably to the man who had just walked out of the bank and was now standing a few feet to his right. From what Peter could tell, he seemed to be conversing casually with a strange little man sporting a small beard too absurd to be fake.

"Yes, I understand," the bank manager replied sympathetically, completely unaware of any change in Peter's manner. "You know, my friend Tammy at the Upper East Side branch was telling me..."

The woman continued to chatter brightly, something or other about a team of bank robbers who wore animal costumes, but Peter's attention had been thoroughly captured by the mystery man.

In the few fleeting glances he was able to sneak while still appearing dutifully interested in the woman's story, he was able, with the practice of a professional observer, to absorb the salient details of the stranger's appearance.

He was approximately 5'10", late twenties, dressed in a perfectly ordinary business ensemble of a dress shirt, tie, and slacks, and was carrying a blue First Unity withdrawal bag. He also happened to have the most piercing blue eyes Peter had ever observed outside of the silver screen, a mass of tousled black hair, and cheekbones that could cut glass. All in all, he was the most gorgeous guy Peter had seen in a very long time, and it took every ounce of his professionalism not to abandon the questioning completely just to stare at him.

"Special Agent Burke?" the bank manager asked, abruptly cutting off her response to peer curiously at him, forcing Peter to admit to himself that the last couple of glances had perhaps been somewhat less subtle than he had hoped.

"Yes, well, um," he said briskly, trying desperately to recover, "If I could just have a look at your bonds, then..." This time it was Peter who stopped speaking. His mouth ran dry as he saw to his utter amazement that the object of his scrutiny seemed to have returned his notice and, what's more, actually appeared to be heading directly for him.

"Excuse me," the man addressed Peter in a friendly tone as the bank manager turned to go back inside, "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear - are you with the FBI?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke," Peter responded, in a voice several pitches lower than his everyday one. The one, he realized with a sinking feeling, that Elizabeth had informed him he always used when trying to come off as impressive.

"Wow," the man responded, sounding, if Peter was not mistaken, a little bit impressed - he would be mentioning that to El later as a point in his defense.

"I just took some money out of the bank, and I heard you talking about counterfeiting," the man continued, his face taking on a worried expression.

"Your money's safe," Peter took pleasure in assuring him. "I'm looking out for counterfeit bonds."

"Well, I have some bonds at home. How would I know if they're not real?" the man pressed, his handsome face wearing an expression which was a mix of curiosity and concern, with an underlying layer of an emotion Peter couldn't quite place.

"Oh, I'm sure they're fine," Peter replied, his voice becoming deeper and grander once again.

The man then flashed him a hundred watt smile that only served to accentuate his other admittedly magnificent features and said, in a tone Peter would have sworn was just a little flirtatious, "Thanks again for all the hard work you're doing, Agent Burke."

_Now this is the sort of thing they should bring up at the recruitment sessions_, Peter thought to himself, as he stammered out, "Oh...well...you know..."

"That's for you," the man continued, still grinning as he handed Peter a small, green sucker - _probably picked up inside the bank_, Peter mused.

Peter accepted it, fervently willing his face to conceal the boyish glee the gift had caused to spring up inside him. The man added a cheery, "Have a good day!" before walking past Peter and away from the bank.

When questioned later by Elizabeth as to why he acted as he did next, Peter would blame it on temporary insanity, brought on by a long spell of too much work and not enough sex, but, in truth, he had no adequate explanation. All he knew was that the man's departure left him feeling disappointed enough to turn and call out, "Oh, Mr..." before realizing that he had never even learned his name.

Miraculously enough, the stranger turned and shot him another blinding smile. "Hubbell," he tossed out brightly, his face wearing yet another expression beneath the friendliness that Peter couldn't quite place, "Robert Hubbell."

"It's nice to meet you...Robert," Peter said, concentrating all his energy on not acting quite as awkwardly as he inevitably did in these situations. He took a couple steps forward and, fishing out a small paper rectangle from his breast pocket, proffered it to him and addressed him in a tone he hoped to God sounded casual: "Here's my card. If you happen to run into any problems with those bonds at home you were talking about, just give me a call."

The man's blue eyes lit up, whether with interest or amusement Peter couldn't tell, as he accepted the card and replied huskily, "I'll be sure to do that...Peter," before slipping the card into the pocket of his beige slacks and sending Peter a slightly teasing grin as he turned to walk away once more.

_Well, that didn't go too badly, _thought Peter with a little self-affirming nod, _Maybe I'm getting better at this flirting thing. _He tried hard not to hear Elizabeth's voice in his head saying, "Well, you can't possibly be getting worse."

"Special Agent Burke?" came an urgent female voice from beside him. Peter shook himself out of his reverie and turned to see the same bank manager as before, who had rushed outside once again to speak with him.

"I think we may have one of those counterfeit bonds," she said quickly, ushering him inside.

Peter's eyes lit up as he followed her first into the bank, then her office, where a worried-looking young woman was sitting.

"Please show the Special Agent the bond the customer asked you to cash, Meredith," the bank manager said encouragingly.

She looked up from the spot on the carpet which had previously held her interest and nervously held out a piece of paper covered in swirls of purple and black ink.

Peter took it and, after examining it with the pocket magnifying glass he carried for just such occasions, exclaimed, "Yes, this is definitely counterfeit. What's more, I'm at least ninety-five percent sure it's the work of our man."

He turned to the girl and asked, "Meredith, when did you get this?"

"Oh, only about fifteen minutes ago," she replied, "Which is why I thought to mention it when Ms. Moore said you were looking for bonds."

"Wait, fifteen minutes ago?" Peter exclaimed excitedly, "Who gave it to you? What did he look like?"

"Oh, well," the girl said, a bit of a blush coming to her cheeks, "He was very handsome, if you must know. He had the most wonderful eyes..."

Peter's stomach immediately dropped and he thought, _Oh God, tell me I didn't, _as he asked tentatively, "About 5' 10", black hair, wearing a red striped tie?"

The girl's eyes lit up and she replied, "Oh yes, that was him!"

Peter whipped out his phone, punched in a few numbers, and barked out, "Sanchez! Set up a perimeter around the bank, and get me all security footage from the surrounding area immediately! We have our first sighting of James Bonds!"

He gave a few words of thanks to the two women for their cooperation before walking into the lobby to phone Elizabeth.

"Hey, sweetie, what's going on?" came Elizabeth's voice from the other end of the line.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," Peter began. "The bad news is that I may not make it to dinner. The good news is that we finally have a lead on James Bonds."

"That's wonderful, Peter!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "What kind of a lead?"

"A sighting..." Peter said tentatively, trying to think of there was any feasible way of not revealing to his wife that he had given James Bonds his number.

"Ooh, how exciting!" Elizabeth said gleefully, "Where?"

_Damn, _though Peter. "The First Unity on 7th and 43rd," he replied nonchalantly.

"Wait, the one where you are?" Elizabeth asked, obviously confused.

"Uh-huh," replied Peter, privately thinking, _I'm screwed._

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line before Elizabeth said, "Peter, are you trying to tell me that you met James Bonds, and just let him get away?"

"Yep, that's it, that's what happened," Peter said a little too quickly. "Very embarrassing all around."

"Oh, there's more," Elizabeth said excitedly, "I can hear it in your voice. Spill, what else?"

Peter sighed and admitted, "I may...have given him my number."

Elizabeth didn't manage to cover the mouth of the phone quickly enough to mask the cascade of laughter coming from the other end of the line before she finally responded, trying her best to keep calm, "You...gave him...your number?"

"Yes, El, I gave him my number," Peter said impatiently, already regretting telling her.

"Still think my crush theory has no merit?" she asked teasingly.

"Yes, yes, you were right," Peter said, rolling his eyes, "You're always right. I shall never deign to challenge your right-ness ever again."

"I'd like that in writing," Elizabeth said dryly, adding after a moment, "But, teasing aside, this is good, isn't it? Finally, a solid lead! Did you get a name?"

"He said his name was Robert Hubbell, but I'm positive that was an alias, and probably not even a working one," Peter replied.

There was another pause before El asked, "Wasn't Hubbell the name of Robert Redford's character in _The Way They Were?"_

"Damn it!" Peter exclaimed, before sending out an apologetic look to the slightly startled looking bank employees and continuing in a lower tone, "He was daring me to catch him, and I was too damn busy getting lost in his eyes to notice. Real professional, I am."

"Oh, honey, don't beat yourself up," Elizabeth said soothingly, "It could have happened to anyone."

"Although," she added mischievously after a moment, "assuming my memory for seventies films is still intact, if he's Robert Redford, doesn't that make you Barbara Streisand?"

"Oh God, I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?" Peter asked, horrified.

"Scattered pictures..." she sang softly, "Of the smiles we left behind..."

Peter let out a groan and called out, "You can make fun of me some more tonight, but I've got to go now," before closing the phone on Elizabeth crooning, "Smiles we gave to one another..."

Three hours later, all they had on James Bonds was a set of fingerprints that didn't match any of the twenty or so databases Peter ran them through, the testimony of half a dozen bank employees, and some grainy security film from the convenience store across the street, which thankfully for Peter did not have audio.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that the bouquet of roses arrived on Peter's desk with a note that read, "Dear Peter - I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon, but until then, please take these as a token of my appreciation for all the hard work that you do. XOXO - R. Hubbell.

_Oh, it's game on now, Bonds, _Peter thought determinedly, even as he picked up a rose and brushed it absently against his cheek, _Game. On. _


	3. The Trouble With Romantics

_November 6, 2003 - a few hours later_

"Are you even listening to me, Neal?" Mozzie asked in frustration. Upon receiving no response, he swiftly repeated his partner's name louder. "Neal!"

"What?" Neal demanded, his head snapping up from where it had been bent over the worn, acoustic guitar in his hands.

"I was asking what the hell you were thinking today, talking to that Fed. You could have gotten us both arrested!"

"I was thinking..." Neal hedged, his left hand turning a small knob on the guitar's neck, his right plucking out an increasingly sharp E-string, "...that it would benefit us to know why the FBI was checking out the bank we'd just conned into exchanging counterfeit bonds."

"Uh-huh," Mozzie said, his skepticism evident in his voice and the cross of his arms over his chest.

"And I was right, wasn't I?" Neal continued a bit smugly, "Now, courtesy of the _very_ obliging Special Agent Burke, we know we've gotta move off bonds. I'm not just a pretty face, you know - behind it, there lies a very capable brain."

"Somehow I have trouble believing it was your _brain_ that prompted you to go up to Special Agent Burke," Moz said dryly, shooting a meaningful glance at Neal.

Neal simply smiled and turned his attention to the A-string, which he found distressingly flat.

"Perhaps my motivations were not entirely business-related," Neal conceded, still grinning mischievously. "There was just something kind of...adorable about the way he was trying so hard to look official and intimidating. I couldn't resist playing with him a little bit."

"Playing with him?" Moss exclaimed, "He's not a nanny goat in a petting zoo, Neal, he's a Fed. Within minutes, he could have set up a five block perimeter, with hundreds of trench-coated G-men."

"Have you seen the FBI in this city, Moz?" Neal asked incredulously, "I could escape a five-foot perimeter set up by them with minimal effort."

"That's not the point," Moz said firmly. "You have got to stop indulging that romantic nature of yours - it's going to get us both into trouble."

"Oh, it was just a little harmless flirting, Moz," Neal scoffed. "If you can't trust me to scam a phone number off a cute Fed without getting caught, then you certainly shouldn't trust me to pull one over on a big fish like Adler."

"This has nothing to do with your professional capabilities," Moz assured him, "Those I have every faith in. It's your personal ones that trouble me. First it was that valet when we were trying to pull the Spanish Prisoner..."

"That's not fair, Moz, he was from Galway!" Neal protested, "You know very well I can't resist an Irish accent!"

"And that secretary at the Mercedes dealership? I'm pretty sure she was from North Dakota," Moz challenged.

"Yeah, but she had the most beautiful red hair..." Neal reminisced.

"I knew taking you on was a mistake," Moz said, throwing his hands in the air. "It's like my old buddy Jimmy the Creep always used to say - 'Mozzie,' he'd say to me, 'Never under any circumstances take up with a con who's also a romantic. One way or the other, someone's heart ends up broken, and you end up holding the bag.' "

"Don't be so dramatic, Moz," Neal objected. "No one's heart's getting broken here. I just happened to find the Fed attractive, in a buttoned-up sort of way, that's all."

"Attractive, huh?" Moz replied, raising an eyebrow and adding sagely, "Beauty and folly are old companions."

"Aristotle?" Neal guessed, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Benjamin Franklin," Moz corrected with a smug smile.

"Well, that's rich, coming from him," Neal observed.

"I'm serious, Neal," Moz said warningly, fixing him with a stare that was eerily similar to the one his second-grade teacher, Mrs. Finn, would often send him from over her cat-eyed glasses whenever he was misbehaving, which was often. "This job is too important for you to have any distractions."

"Oh, but Mozzie," Neal said, breaking out the puppy dog look he would often use to defend himself against Mrs. Finn, as he plucked out a few chords on the guitar and began to sing, "What the world needs now, is love sweet love. It's the only thing that there's just too little of...Sing it with me, Moz!"

"Oh, shut up!" Moz said, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling in spite of himself. "You're lucky you're so damn charming, that's all I have to say."

"I'd say we're both lucky I'm so damn charming," Neal observed, "Since I'm going to charm Vincent Adler out of some hard-won millions."

"I'll drink to that," Moz agreed, handing Neal a glass of red and clinking it against his own. "So, no more talk of this...Suit, then? It's all business?"

"All business," Neal agreed as he raised the glass of wine to his lips, but behind the rim of the glass, his lips were still curved in a mischievous smile holding the promise of some very not business-like intentions.


End file.
